


Utterly Corrupted

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Incest, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-16
Updated: 2006-06-16
Packaged: 2018-10-26 14:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: That’s what you are, supremely, thoroughly, utterly corrupted.  H/G, other.





	Utterly Corrupted

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Thanks to Mmmusings for the beta.  


* * *

Utterly Corrupted 

_Wrong, wrong, wrong._ The word floats through your head, taunting you, filling your gut with bile that threatens to rise, and you think perhaps the disgust you feel...with yourself…maybe it can overcome your fascination, finally.

But then she moans, and you’re lost.

Mesmerized, you watch as their lips come together, again and again, opening and closing wetly. You can see his tongue slide smooth and slippery along her plumped up bottom lip. It makes her groan, and your eyes fall shut at the sound.

When you first noticed the glances, and your stomach swooped with something hot and bright white, you told yourself it was only your protectiveness shining through. She is, after all, your little sister; the little girl who used to climb onto your lap, snuggle in and beg for stories, spindly arms clutched around your neck as if you were her lifesaver; you had every right to feel a little protective.

When you first saw the hand holding, and then the kisses, and the flaming ball of something unimaginable resided in your belly like an ache you couldn’t get rid of, you thought perhaps it was your gut, telling you he wasn’t good enough for her.

And when you followed them out into the woods behind the Burrow, you told yourself it was only that you needed to protect her, to be her savior – the woods can be a dangerous place after all. You ignored the echoing voice in your head that told you the war was over, that there was nothing to save her from. You pushed aside the mind-numbing thought that he was the one who’d saved her when it’d really mattered.

And you knew you should have left when you saw they were only having a picnic by the stream, the hazy light oppressive as they sat side by side.

And you knew you should have left when he reached over and trailed one long fingertip down the white column of her throat, and you saw her breath hitch and catch, you saw her eyes go wide and cinnamon-dark, a feral light coming into them.

You didn’t leave. All excuses were gone, and still you stayed.

A shiver runs through you as watch his lips start down her body.

The hum of the afternoon buzzes around you, hot, humid air cackling. You shiver again…against the heat… as he follows a bead of sweat down her body, licking the valley between her breasts, and you suppress a groan as her hips lift up toward him in supplication. He murmurs something low and soft between his teeth, not bothering to lift his lips from her freckled skin. And her answering murmur sends white-hot sparks flaring through you. Harry moves back slightly, kneeling precariously between her legs. He looks as if he’s been given the world; you envy the feeling. He presses his hand against the juncture between her thighs, causing her head to fall backwards against the ratty blanket they’re using.

His bottle green eyes are wild now as they travel the length of her body, a look of intense – almost innocent – concentration etched upon his face as his hand moves. From where you’re standing you can’t see his fingers slip into her shorts, but you know they are there. You catch your breath, squeezing your eyes shut against the sight, but it’s already been burnt onto your memory: her body bent backwards, hips lifted up in offering; Harry kneeling beside her, moving his fingers, back and forth, in and out, and she shudders and cries out and the sound is like sweet torture. You open your eyes, unsurprised to find your hand rubbing the ache in your pants.

No, you certainly shouldn’t be here. She’s forbidden to you in everyway. Never mind the fact that she belongs to someone else, you share blood…but the way her slim hips grind hard against his, the way her hands slip down his bare, sweaty back, nails finally digging into sun-burnt skin, makes all that common blood rush to your cock, liquid fire alighting your veins on the way, and you burn…you _ache_ just to touch her. Instead you lean against a tree, hoping the shadows will keep you hidden for just a while longer, and you press your hand harder against your throbbing erection, hoping if you press hard enough, so hard it hurts, you’ll learn your lesson.

Suddenly, she is sitting up. She turns him around, pushes him so that he falls onto his back, propped up on his elbows so he can see her bright head bend down as she impatiently unzips his trousers. Her giggles wash over you like warm, fragrant water. His answering laugh, so masculine and aroused, alights a crazy sort of jealous lust in your chest.

He reaches up and touches her cheek, and you watch with bated breath as she leans down with her mouth. His head falls back, giving you a perfect view, red head bobbing up and down on a cock that rises out of black curls.

You close your eyes; it’s too much, the sight of her tight, hot, little mouth moving slow and hot up along his…and oh, god, you’re lost here, in this sensation that’s almost too real. What you wouldn’t give…who you wouldn’t _kill_ … to trade places with him, to kiss her breast, to suckle and hear her whimper and moan.

And she’s moaning now. He’s pulling her up; she’s straddling him, her sweat-slicked body glowing in the dappled sunlight streaming through the canopy provided by the trees. Harry’s hands guide her hips as she rides him. Your gaze is captured, captivated by the sight, as her hands slide up her torso and pinch her nipples.

You’re hot. So hot. Too hot. You’re burning up from the inside, and it feels…it’s everything…and as you watch, they shatter…crying out their names, crying their happiness, and you grind your teeth in an effort to keep from echoing their howls. There’s a ringing in your ears…it’s taking over. Without a second’s thought, you turn, not caring if they hear you, and you practically fly to the house and into the loo, ignoring the twins’ calls for you to slow down and chat for a minute.

Once you’re under the cold, punishing torrent, you don’t allow yourself to feel the guilt, you only grab yourself and pump with harsh punishing strokes, willing the images to stay away, but they come back…raven head bent low, smoothing kisses along pale, freckled skin…lust-burnt, brown eyes searing right into your soul as she smiles shyly and bites her lip, drawing blood. And you’re bending down, sucking the blood up, it’s coppery and warm and sweet. Her hips are pistoning against you, harder, faster, and you flip her over, onto her stomach, ramming into her before she protests, before she can even catch her breath.

And the moans…they’re for you now, your name, only for you. You bend down, kiss the back of her neck, feeling her body shake and shatter as you bring her to her climax.

With a last twist of your hand, you send yourself skating along that forbidden path, crying out her name with your red head thrown back as you splatter cum all over the shower wall.

You lean against the shower, heedless to the cold as it sprays down on you. “Fuck.” You grit your teeth. “Fuck.” You slam your eyes shut. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You punch the shower wall, hard, bruising your knuckles. “Fuck,” you say, one last time, for good measure, because that’s what you are, Bill Weasley, supremely, thoroughly, utterly fucked.  



End file.
